


Rivalry

by yourcrookedheart



Series: Fanfiction Tropes [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year, POV First Person, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 02:09:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14990486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourcrookedheart/pseuds/yourcrookedheart
Summary: “What’s your secret, Granger? Another trick courtesy of our late Headmaster? Easy to be the best when you’re getting preferential treatment.”She smiles sweetly, somehow managing to look like a hawk about to swoop down towards its dinner, and waves at Potter and Weasley to go ahead. “It’s called studying, Malfoy. You might try it sometime.”





	Rivalry

**Author's Note:**

> This fic pushed me pretty far out of my comfort zone seeing as I don't generally like reading or writing first-person narration. For the sake of the trope bingo I was working on, I gave it a try anyway and revisited my first fandom/OTP.

Slytherins derive a certain kind of joy from excelling, not for the virtue of the achievement in itself, but because it gives them a sense of superiority to take the prize over someone else. I should know, I was one of them.

There are no Slytherins anymore now, though. No Gryffindors either, thank Merlin. Dumbledore’s death left Hogwarts without a Headmaster, and for the first time in decades, with the opportunity to modernize. The first thing they did was to get rid of the Houses, and now the Sorting Hat’s gathering dust somewhere and the four tables in the Great Hall have made room for a dozen shorter ones, randomly occupied by students of all houses.

The war has blurred the lines, made petty rivalries seems inconsequential. Yet the Slytherins, at heart even if no longer in name, don’t mingle. No war hero wants to have lunch with the child of a Death Eater, and no child of a Death Eater wants to have lunch with the people responsible for putting their mum and dad in Azkaban. The new Hogwarts administration should’ve seen that coming, really.

Anyway, excelling. With or without the Slytherin robes, it’s in our blood to want to be the best. The fastest seeker, the most popular Head Boy. To get that look of approval from Slughorn as he smells your potion with that broad mushroom nose of his and gives you an Outstanding. It’s therefore exceedingly irritating to have Hermione Granger beat me in every single class.

Potter and Weasley, at least, have the decency to fail at most things they set their mind to. I don’t even know why they bothered coming back to Hogwarts; I’m sure they’ve been offered plenty of jobs. Must be the fame, all the adoring looks they get from girls and boys. And with them, as always, came Granger, though that’s no surprise there. She probably thinks the world would end if she missed a single class.

Slughorn loves her. Of course he does, the traitor.

It takes four months and too many smug looks of hers to count before I lose my patience and corner her after class. She’s still carrying the Vera Virtus potion that Slughorn called ‘exemplary’ (mine only got me an infuriatingly calm ‘well done’) and is loading her books in a leather satchel that seems too small but easily fits a full library. Show-off.

“What’s your secret, Granger? Another trick courtesy of our late Headmaster? Easy to be the best when you’re getting preferential treatment.”

She smiles sweetly, somehow managing to look like a hawk about to swoop down towards its dinner, and waves at Potter and Weasley to go ahead. “It’s called studying, Malfoy. You might try it sometime.” Her hair is a mess of frizz around the edges, curlier than usual after an hour of hunching over a hot cauldron. It doesn’t quite fit with the withering glare.

“Now, now. No need to be hostile. We’re all one House now, didn’t you hear the speech?”

Her eye roll seems to suggest that she finds the notion as ridiculous as I do. Who knew we had something in common? “And yet you sit there with all of your old friends. There’s no one House if all Slytherins refuse to leave the flock.” The stress on ‘one House’ is pure sarcasm. Everything else, surprisingly, isn’t.

“Want me to join your table instead, Granger? Bet Weasley would love that.”

She freezes for a second, then looks me in the eye. A proper look, one full of honesty like when she cornered me after the Ministry had come to take my parents away, and told me she was sorry. “Why not? Plenty of room at our table.”

I scoff. “I doubt it, between the throng of fawning admirers you heroes attract.”

It makes her flush, I’m not sure why. They do attract admirers, and she never seems thrown off guard by them. “Yes, well, maybe it would be nice to avoid those once in a while,” she says, looking guilty. “They mean well, but occasionally I like to have lunch with someone who doesn’t bring up the war every five minutes.”

“You prefer my insults over eager first-years?”

“When you put it like that…” Granger’s changed over the years, has grown calmer, more self-assured, but the way she tilts her chin and points up her nose in a haughty sneer is every bit the eleven year old who couldn’t let a question go unanswered. It is, I hesitate to admit, almost charming. “And Ron’s changed, for your information.” She slings her satchel over her shoulder. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. He has. Which you’d know if you ever talked to us.”

I didn’t realize there was an invitation to do so. She must notice me waver, because she smiles, a kind one that reaches her eyes this time. “I’ll think about it,” I say.

“Good.” The classroom’s emptied during our conversation. Even Slughorn has disappeared into his office. The conversation’s over, but Granger lingers, fiddling with the straps of her bag. “I mean it, you know. You always look miserable, sitting there at your table.”

My mind jumps right over the ‘miserable’ bit, though I’m sure to ponder that later, and focuses instead on the implication. She’s been watching me?

“Didn’t know you cared.” It comes out less offhand than I’d intended.

“Well, I do.”

I’m not sure what to do with her particular brand of honesty. The only other option is deflection. “Only if you share your secret with me.”

“There’s no—” She huffs, clicks her tongue. “I can share my notes. Only if you agree to have lunch with us tomorrow, though.”

Merely two years ago having lunch and exchanging notes with Hermione Granger would have sounded like a detention. Now it sounds like reprieve, and I’d rather not examine what that means, though I know I will, sometime after she’s left the classroom and I’ll be alone with my thoughts.

“Fine,” I say. “Worth it to get the chance to beat you.”

“It’s not a competition, Malfoy.” The sparkle in her eyes implies differently, though. She walks off, frizzy hair trailing behind her like a halo, and I wonder what tomorrow’s lunch will entail. If anything, I’d wager the look on Weasley’s face will make my day.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://queennsansa.tumblr.com/).


End file.
